The OTHER Lone Wanderer
by ThePunkRockIdealist
Summary: Sure, the Vault kid got the fame, and saved the land of D.C. from an evil U.S. government, but what Reggie does is just as important, he survives by helping folks, and getting drunk, a good guy in a bad world, or maybe just a regular guy in a bad world, Reggie doesn't know, and he doesn't care. So long as he draws breath and income.


**The OTHER Lone Wanderer**

**I don't own shit, don't sue me, you won't get anything. This story takes place before the events of Fallout 3, but around the same time, also it's the first story I've written in a couple years, so feel free to talk as much shit as you want.**

Reggie sat by the fire he had made out of some gnarled dead trees and cardboard packages. He was repairing his 9mm pistol while deep in thought on the subject of his latest task...

He had recently been in the town of Megaton, passing through looking for a drink, or something stronger, to take the edge off of his near death at the hands of the Boot Boys raider outfit. Over his 25 years of life, 12 of it spent getting shot at, he learned one thing for sure, and that was that almost getting flogged, raped, dismembered or just plain old killed didn't ever get easy.

Upon entering through those massive metal gates he was met by a black guy in full cowboy regalia. He was reasonably sure that the outfit was for show, but around the time he was 16 and was almost decapitated by a gang of moonshiners who didn't like his whole 1920's lawman style, he decided that practicality beats out drama any day of the week. That was why he wore armor now, homemade (if he had a home that is) out of scrap metal, brahmin skin, and with a helmet fashioned from a Deathclaw's skull. Ok, maybe there was a little dramatic element to his getup, but when people see you've killed a Deathclaw, they know one of two things: This person is nothing to fuck with, or, this person is nothing to fuck with and they can help me out, plus a Deathclaw has a skull like a cinderblock, and it wasn't too heavy. Apart from the outfit, he carried with him a simple dufflebag loaded with the supplies he needed for repairing weapons, some foodstuffs, water, ammo, and a little extra firepower to accompany his trusty 9mm pistol Susan and his flip-cock style shotgun, Clint.

"Well you're quite the sight, ain't ya?" asked the dark skinned fellow. Tempted to respond with a smart ass remark, Reggie restrained himself from such comments until he learned a little bit more about the folks around this town. Being a smart ass can get you fucked harder than a Wasteland Hooker by a Raider high on Psycho if you're not careful. He decided to play it civil.

"It may look a bit excessive, but you can never be too careful these days." Seemed like a smart way to start a relationship.

"Right you are partner, now allow me to introduce myself, name's Lucas Simms, sheriff and mayor of our little slice of paradise, Megaton, and you are?" So he was dealing with a lawman who had a cowboy complex, either a valuable friend, or an annoying enemy.

"The name's Reggie, short for Reginald, but don't call me that please. It's a nice town you have here Mr. Simms, well fortified, and pretty well populated. How'd you manage that in this day and age?" Compliments come across well typically, and if you're looking for a semi-permanent lodging, you want to make a good impression.

"I see that you've got a sense of civility Reggie, I like that, don't kill anybody or steal anything and we should get on famously, we manage it by keeping the law, now mind you, we ain't the Brotherhood of Steel, or those crazy Enclave assholes that you hear broadcasting on the radio, but we have rules. We're pretty self-reliant and we aim to keep it that way too, we've got a trading outpost by the crater, a doc, he's a grumpy sonofabitch but he'll do you fine, a saloon and a restaurant, just down the way." Reggie was inclined to agree with Simms, they seemed to be having a good start to a relationship, he really hoped that a sudden turn of events wouldn't arise, requiring him to dispatch the Sheriff from his station, but he'd been around far too long to think that the situation was out of the question.

"Well thank you sir, if you wouldn't mind pointing me in the direction of the saloon, I could use a hard drink or seven after what I've just been through." Seven might have been a bit under what he'd require after dealing with those supremacists, but in a town of law, asking where to find some Mentats or Med-x isn't always a good call.

"You're looking for Moriarty's, up that way, up those ramps and past the boarding house. I have to say, I'm a little surprised you haven't said anything about the bomb, it's a focal point for most folk traveling through this way." He'd noticed the bomb, but in the interest of keeping things light here, he didn't want to say anything.

"Meh, I've seen weirder things, yesterday I strangled a racist Raider leader with his own intestines, and he was so strung out on Psycho and Jet that he kept trying to eat me, a stagnant nuke isn't as uncommon as one might think, I've seen two in the Maryland area alone." He probably shouldn't have let out that info about the Raider, but he needed to exit this conversation and get fucked up, fast.

**So that's the start of my tale, hopefully it interested you, I intend to keep it coming.**


End file.
